  I have loved flowers that fade, Within whose magic tents Rich hues have marriage made With sweet unmemoried scents: A honeymoon delight,— A joy of love at sight, That ages in an hour:— My song be like a flower! I have loved airs, that die Before their charm is writ Upon the liquid sky Trembling to welcome it. Notes, that with pulse of fire Proclaim the spirit’s desire, Then die, and are nowhere:— My song be like an air! Die, song, die like a breath, And wither as a bloom: Fear not a flowery death, Dread not an airy tomb! Fly with delight, fly hence! ’Twas thine love’s tender sense To feast, now on thy bier |
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